


love at first fall

by noyacchi (TDRKBKGO)



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: AU, Aged-Up Character(s), Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 19:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5552798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TDRKBKGO/pseuds/noyacchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mizutani Fumiki is just trying to get home, but a storm with other plans forces him into a detour. </p><p>(other characters are also present.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. bells.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the Ultimate gramps: L](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the+Ultimate+gramps%3A+L).



> へ‿(。_°)‿ㄏ  
> MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR AND STUFF L!!!!!!  
> YOU ARE THE MOST PRECIOUS L.....OSER!!!!!!!!!!!!! AHAHAHA!  
> (ilu)

The chime of the doorbell feels familiar, he thinks, when he stumbles into the small cafe and tries to catch his breath, bending down with hands on his knees.

It's hard to place. Maybe he's heard it in a movie?

"I'm really sorry to barge in at this time!" He says to the floor before looking up from his improvised bow, water dripping from his bangs onto his nose but the _(handsome, he has to admit - enough that his heart skips a beat or two)_ man behind the counter keeps wiping the glass he's holding with a clean, white towel, and puts it down before he picks up a new one, so he hesitatingly speaks up again and tries to speak over the loud beating of his heart starting back up again like a revved engine. "Um, are-- are you closed already?"

"Nah."

The voice is hard to pinpoint, low but not deep, energy somehow crackling behind the monotone reply.

"Then, uh, okay, I would like--"

"If there's anything I can get you within ten seconds, then continue."

There's no edge to his words, really - just a sense of strength that is hard to define, draped in syllables as short as he can get away with making them.

"Ten seconds...?"

"Until we close."

"Oh, right. I mean, I see..!"

As he puts down the second glass, the man places his towel down on the counter with it but raises his gaze. With messy hair and strong lines, the look he gives with furrowed brows makes Fumiki hesitate a little before speaking up again, finally managing to get his heart somewhat under control _(still racing, but not jumping through his ribs)_ , though the same can’t be said for his mind.

Calling it jumbled would be an understatement.

"Well, there's uh, I thought I'd make it home before the storm hit, but I kind of got stuck on the way..."

Crossing his arms, the gruff-looking man takes long enough to answer for Fumiki to feel something running down his back and alerting every cell in his body along the way, and Fumiki shifts his weight slightly where he stands.

He's pretty sure that exactly 0% of his body is dry. Maybe parts of his underwear, if he's lucky. And in addition to being heavy, the water dripping from his clothes makes him feel like he's swimming in an ice cube.

It makes the waiting a painful lot longer.

"And?"

Fumiki lifts a hand to his face, wiping away rain with a hand just as wet.

"Well... Um, it seems I kinda... don't have anywhere to be...? I can't make it back to my office or go home because the trains shut down."

"And?"

Fumiki draws in air to fill his lungs and then breathes out slowly.

"If you don't mind, could I spend some time here?"

"Sure."

Blinking, Fumiki watches the other return to cleaning up, and when nothing else is said, Fumiki puts his bag down and manages a quiet _"Thanks for having me..."_ before tiptoeing into the establishment to sit on a chair. It's made mainly out metal with the seat covered in cloth that seems waterproof, while the discreetly fancy-looking sofa or the matching armchairs do not.

Letting his eyes thoroughly roam across the small place, the atmosphere is subdued. There are no strong colors or distinct artwork but is still decorated enough to feel cozy, and it helps his racing heart calm down.

Admittedly, the silence is a bit heavy - but it definitely isn't as bad as he supposes it could be. The wind and the rain, though too strong to be casually strolling around in, create a distinct ambience, the silence feeling less empty.

Soon feeling the chill of his clothes, he grows hyper aware of his body as well - every breath and every placement of every limb, a distractedly prominent drop of rain making its way down the back of his neck. He stands up and takes off his jacket and unwraps himself from his knitted scarf, the rustling of the wet cloth almost deafening. After hanging them over the back of the chair as swiftly as he can possibly manage, he pulls a hand through his hair with a sigh to get some air into it, get rid of the uncomfortable feeling of it sticking to his skin.

The temperature of the room is probably pleasant in ordinary circumstances, but Fumiki finds himself shaking. With jaw tense to stop his teeth from clattering, the grinding of them instead gives him the foggy discomfort of an incoming headache.

"I-It sure is coming down, outside..." He says slowly when sitting down again, hoping a conversation would distract him. Realizing the other is already watching him when he looks over towards the counter makes him shift in the chair with his ears going warm, and he knows what all of these physical reactions mean, of course, but he really doesn't feel like dealing with it. Not when making this sad of a first impression - falling in through the front door ten seconds before the café closes, and then asking to sit around looking like a drenched rat, offering nothing in terms of conversation or.. anything, really.

Usually boisterous enough in the right environments, bumbling around and making a fool out of himself is relatively common practice for him. This time though, knowing the other had seen it makes him self-conscious.

"Mhm." Is the hummed reply he receives and Fumiki, once he realizes he won't get much further than that, falls into the kind of silence which feels like his entire being is wrung like an old rag.

A clock is ticking somewhere, and despite not on display anymore, the baked goods somehow still manages to smell like heaven. The place is quiet in multiple ways, and it makes him want to relax. To give them some credit, his muscles actually manages to some degree... but it only makes the way he tenses up when cold rushes down his spine even more straining.

" 'ey."

"Hm?"

He doesn't really have time to come back to Earth and register what he's seeing before it hits him in the face and falls into his lap, but he realizes once getting his hands on it that it's a bundle of clothes.

"Clo--? Wh--? F-For me?"

The question doesn't deserve an answer, he knows that even without getting his face lit on fire by the man watching him blankly, right eyebrow slightly raised.

_Jeez._

"Thank you?" He says, voice stuck in his throat for multiple reasons. "Uh-- do I…?"

"You can change in the bathroom. Back there."

He directs Fumiki with a slight tilt of his head and a hand pointing towards the door clearly marked as a bathroom, so Fumiki quickly gets to his feet. The water in his shoes and socks bubble in between his toes and it feels as if he's stepping into something fizzed and squishy at the same time, so he has to hide a shiver of discomfort while bowing deeply and holding the clothes carefully in both hands before scurrying off towards the bathroom.

They're nothing overly fancy, but the clothes still give him an odd feeling of being too fashionable to belong to the gruff dude outside. Then again, whose could it be otherwise...?

Of course, It doesn't really matter. He's not in a position to be picky, he doesn't even want to be, and the clothes are clean. They smell of a laundry detergent one of his exes used to use and it adds to the sense of surrealism clouding the entire chain of events, but the knitted sweater is warm and soft and the dark jeans a big fit but not falling straight off and in the end, the rest is pretty insignificant.

The guy cleaning outside the bathroom isn't one of his exes, and he was given the clothes without asking.

"Thank you very much!" He says as politely as he possibly can, bowing again, and as he stares at the floor he hears a huffing sound and _a "No need for thanks."_ , so he looks up again to see the other lean back against the side of the counter, arms crossed, eyes fixed upon Fumiki in a manner that makes him feel like he's being read like a book and turned inside out.

"Well, I think there is... I mean, considering I was about to become an ice statue, haha-- I mean, I wasn't expecting anything from y--aah, anyway, I'll wash these and return them clean!"

"Sure."

Fumiki feels a smile spread over his face before he can stop it and he quickly takes his own clothes to hang them over the back of his chair with his jacket and scarf.

"I'm not keeping you here, right?" He suddenly realizes, spins on his bare heels to look at his conversation partner.

"No. The storm is."

"Oh, yeah, right, of course… that makes sense." He runs a hand through his hair again, though for reasons slightly different than before.

"You hungry?"

"Uh."

"Leftovers. Won't be up for sale tomorrow, might as well eat them."

"In that case--" he squints slightly to read the name tag on the others chest. "-- I'd love to eat something. Suyama."

Quiet and suddenly pensive, the man looks down and angles the name tag with a hum, removes it and walks into the back of the café.

Fumiki hides a grin into his hands, pressing his palms to his suddenly very hot cheeks. It's always odd whenever people do that, he knows from working in a grocery store, but it gives him the other’s name without needing to ask, so all he needs to do is to give his own.

Maybe the silence will be less heavy after that.

**\-- -- -- -- -- -- --**

  
Time had passed by faster than Fumiki had found himself wanting to, and standing on the train on his way to work the following day, cloudy but no rain, he isn’t even able to listen to music like he always does. His head is a little too busy, rewinding and replaying every little turn and twist of the night before.

The sandwiches had been absolutely delicious, and Fumiki had talked about a lot of things, all of which maybe 45% got any useful responses, but he'd found common ground eventually.

Baseball, for example.

He doesn't have the time to actively follow the sport anymore (or rather, it isn't a priority), but he'd played when younger and the information had glued the store worker's (or owner, as it seems Suyama is the owner) eyes to Fumiki in a way that'd made him stutter. Thoroughly interviewed about his player position, skills, his team, the talents on his team, Fumiki had still felt content. The man of few words' interest got to his head, and he didn't realize until back home and rolled into his blanket that he'd barely gotten any of his own questions answered.

It hadn't been like the guy had been an exceptional listener, rather the opposite, but when attentive, Fumiki had soon started to feel insatiable in ways he knows are hopeless. But he has a good excuse to come back, as soon as he's had time to do his laundry, and as he's being rocked softly back and forth by the train's movements, he feels his heart heat up at the thought.

He knows he falls too easily.

It'd be easier if he didn't, of course, but this first part, the part where everything brightens up and flutters about… that’s not the bad one.

**\-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --**

  
Truth be told, he'd have liked to return earlier (and his plan had been to do so, really!), but he sort of felt it would be odd when not bringing the clothes with him, and he didn't have time to get them washed for a few days too many, so when he tries to sneak in through the door, he’s more than aware of the fact that it's already been five days since his first visit.

The bell still sounds familiar, and he can't place it this time either, but it isn't anything he dwells on for too long - his main concern quickly becomes the fact that the soft chime of it attracts the attention of the three men by the counter, two of them tall and the third shorter, light hair poking out under a big hat (also, Fumiki is absolutely certain he's seen him somewhere before, though he has no idea about where).

Looking them over, he notes that none of them is the reason his heart has been on fire for five days, though.

"Well, maybe you can sit down in the corner for now?" The man currently behind the counter turns to the other two while speaking and the smaller nods quickly while the other corrects his glasses, his curled boyband hair the most touch-worthy Fumiki has ever seen, making his princely handsomeness less distant - more ordinary.

"Alright." He says once his glasses seem to be positioned in a preferable manner. "Ah, but wait, I'd like a coffee first."

"Oh?" The barista is smiling as he replies and doesn't seem very surprised, he looks at Fumiki with a polite _"Please excuse me, I'll be ready to serve you soon_." to which Fumiki just lifts a hand and waves it, because he doesn't mind. The slight change in the already warm smile he receives feels like a cozy fire in a big fireplace (how does he do that?), he starts working without asking for details on the coffee and then turns to the shorter guest. "Are you good or would you like something too today?"

"Mm...mmmaybe a cinnamon roll? Ah, but your melon bread is so good, too..."

"You can have both, you know."

"You spoil him too much, Suyama." The handsome prince sighs and Suyama (are they brothers, then? This Suyama and gruff Suyama) just hums over the sound of the coffee brewer while the third moves about slightly in a flustered manner, mumbling a _"But, I'll pay..?"_ which earns him a light slap to the back of his head and a _"No, jeez, you won't, co-owner!"_ from the prince Handsome and Fumiki is really bothered by how he can't remember who the guy is, that light-haired fluster-bun.

"Don't bully him, Hanai."

"He's not bullying me...!"

Feeling like he's watching a TV drama, Fumiki finds himself trying to figure out their relations to each other, but has to put it on hold once handsome Hanai places his hand on his company's shoulder to make him lead the way to the table in the corner, and in the silence that follows, Fumiki realizes there's soft music playing in the background - _it’s the kind he'd like to classify as elevator music_ \- and--

"I apologize for the delay, what may I do for you?"

"No worries, no worries..!" He scoots over towards the counter, a glance at the name-tag telling him this, indeed, is a Suyama as well. "Uh, I am-- I mean, I was here the other day...? During the storm…?"

"Ah, right. I hope there was no further trouble after you left."

"None at all! Uh, but, I mean, I wanted to...  talk to your..." He hesitates a little, syllables dragging out awkwardly. "... brother?"

"My brother?"

"Uh... Yeah? Maybe?"

Suyama drums his fingers on the counter lightly in a thoughtful rhythm before letting out a _"Ooh, so he did that again."_ which immediately tells Fumiki he's made a mistake. He prepares to apologize, or clarify, or anything really, but Suyama cuts his intentions off cleanly with the precision of a mental swordmaster with something as simple as an amused smile.

"He didn't introduce himself so you got the name from the tag, right?"

"Um, yeah."

"I understand. I keep telling him to make one for himself or at least remove mine when he works here..."

It's falling into place in Fumiki's head that the Suyama from five days earlier isn't a Suyama at all, so he raises a hand with a (hopefully) apologetic _"Wait a second..."_ to which Suyama helpfully falls quiet, and Fumiki continues with a sense of heat crawling up his neck. "I called him Suyama the entire time, though..!"

"That would be me. Suyama Shouji, by the way."

"What--!?"

"That lazy boy…" Shouji shakes his head with a soft chuckle. "He has a tendency of walking around with my name tag on for whatever reason, is all. His name is Abe. Abe Takaya."

Fumiki feels like he's melting on the spot and presses his palms to his cheeks to try to cool them down.

"Why didn't he correct me...! Jeez!"

"He can act a bit... peculiar, at times, but he's a very good guy. He probably figured it didn't matter, so you don't need to feel embarrassed."

Fumiki looks up at Shouji with a face he hopes doesn't convey his doubt, but from the way Shouji continues, he must have failed.

"If you'd offended him, he would have told you. He's _very_ honest in that regard."

"Very honest..."

Fumiki trails off, so Shouji changes the conversation angle, expression more serious.

"If there's a message you'd like to give him, I can forward it. I apologize for him causing this confusion."

"No, no, it's fine! I shouldn't have just assumed-- anyway, I was just going to return his clothes..!"

He opens his bag, where the clothes are neatly folded and packed in a plastic bag, and hands it to Shouji with both hands and his head bowed down, eyes closed and face still burning.

Shouji takes the plastic bag out of his hands and when Fumiki glances up at him, he's watching it in a manner that seems oddly amused for a man who's just received nothing but a plastic bag with clothes, and Fumiki feels a nervous flood of words is about to overwhelm him so he tries to hold it back--

"Thank you for returning them. I'll make sure he gets your message."

"My--? Oh, yeah, I'm really grateful..! They helped a lot, my own were completely drenched."

"I can imagine. I was out of town, but I heard the storm was bad."

"Yeah... Well." He kind of just wants to evaporate on the spot, so he tries to find a smooth way of exiting the conversation and escape. "Thank you, for clearing up the Abe thing and taking your time with me."

"Oh, no worries, it's been a pleasure." Shouji smiles again, and Fumiki responds automatically even though it feels like it's straining his cheeks. _"Well, before you leave--"_ he finds a white paper bag and swiftly grabs a few different buns and cookies to put into it before handing it over to Fumiki. "Here. Please feel free to give them a try, if they seem interesting."

"Eh-- Wait--" He knows he can't refuse, because the only thing more impolite than accepting a sudden offering like this one has to be to refuse it, right? "Uh-- Th-Thank you very much..!"

With his head being a mess he can't really find anything more intelligent to say, but Shouji doesn't seem bothered and his smile is taking the edge off of Fumiki's wild embarrassment with the pure essence of calm it’s radiating, and Fumiki appreciates it even as he makes a rather awkward exit.

It isn't until he takes his second bite of melon bread that evening (definitely tasty, the shorter man with Hanai had been absolutely right), that he remembers the note and the realization almost has him choke to death.

**\-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --**

   
Of course, he'd felt embarrassed enough already as he'd slipped the note with his phone number and email address into the folds of the jeans but the agony he suffers for four days makes it seem like nothing. Sure, he's fully aware that the Abe guy most probably will just get rid of it and let that be the end of it, but he still can't stop himself from being lit on fire whenever he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. It reminds him of the entire ordeal, and he'd rather just forget all about it at this point.

Well, forget the ordeal but remember the guy, he supposes.

Alternatively, remember the guy just enough that he can hold a sliver of hope that maybe Abe won’t actually toss the note and contact him, but not remember him too much - he’s got enough on his plate without his heart being on fire, and definitely enough that having to deal with the smoldering ashes later would be a serious pain in the ass. Truth be told, his work really isn’t very forgiving. He needs to stay alert to listen and not only listen but also direct, and then make sure the technical parts are fine… audio work is more than it seems and recording sessions depend on his concentration, probably more than anyone else’s. Filling the roles of both audio engineer and sound mixer more often than not, he isn’t given enough leeway to be spacing out.

Because his expectations of the situation are beyond the minus section of the scale, the email he receives on the fourth day comes even more as a shock for him, even if all it says is _'mizutani?'_.

Or maybe, a more accurate description would be that it is **because** that's all it says - there's really only one person he can think of who'd ask, after all.

Staring at the screen, handful of popcorn paused between bowl and destination, it takes him a while to compute though, and he's only awakened from his paralyzed state once his phone lights up again and the vibration against the wooden table is so loud to him he drops the popcorn when he recoils, the small yelp he lets out drowned out by the TV.

Regaining control of himself, he quickly snatches the phone from the table to read the second email too.

'this is abe'

He can't tell if he's actually screeching or not but he hides his face into his pillow either way, heart suddenly trying to skyrocket through his ribs and face probably close to melting if the temperature is anything to go by, because sure, he'd still made a complete fool of himself but somehow - _somehow_ \- the guy is still contacting him and it makes his chest fill up until he's pretty sure it'll burst. As if trying to get it done before that happens, he types up a quick _'That's me! Mizutani Fumiki!'_ because he can't find anything else even remotely coherent in the mess of words echoing through every cell of his being, but...

He supposes it doesn't actually really matter - he can say all those other things later.

 


	2. after the storm.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years later, some things are the same but most things are not.  
> Well, isn’t that just how it always is, anyway?

"Hmm?"

Fumiki looks over at Takaya who gives him a rather annoyed look, so he quickly tries to rewind and in one way or another put the pieces of the complete jumble of a sentence he'd just picked up from Takaya's general direction together, but he's interrupted by Takaya cooperatively speaking up again.

"The first time you came here. It was storming that time, too."

"Ohh, right, yeah!" He replies while clapping his hands together lightly, straightening up where he sits because there’s no way he wouldn’t remember, though Takaya bringing it up feels nostalgic almost to the point of being out of character of him.

He has his eyes so firmly focused forwards most of the time after all.

"It was a lot like today, wasn't it?" He continues, looking down at the borrowed clothes he's wearing, (remembers he hadn’t had enough luck to be able to borrow socks and wriggles his toes to make sure they’re still there), and then over at Takaya, bursting into laughter. "You're even wearing Suyama's name tag again!"

"Mm, well, more or less." He removes the name tag in a smooth manner. "Though it's actually my clothes you're borrowing this time."

"Eh?"

"Yeah, last time it was Suyama's."

"What?! You lent me Suyama's clothes?! It's been almost three years and no one ever--!" He sighs, interrupting himself, putting an elbow on the table between him and Takaya and resting his chin in his palm, muttering a low _"-- ugh, whatever..."_ before falling into a short, pouting silence.

Unable to keep it up for very long, though, he taps his finger on his cheek as he speaks up again.

"But these are yours then?"

"Mhm." Takaya sips on his coffee, gaze wandering from the windows over to Fumiki, eyes running down his body in a way that makes Fumiki’s face burn but the butterflies in his stomach and his heart beating a little faster more than makes up for it.

"I never knew you were that type."

Clearing his throat, Fumiki watches Takaya right back.

"Hm?"

"Who likes seeing people in their clothes and stuff."

"Hah? Wouldn't that be you?"

Takaya states it so casually that it takes Fumiki slightly off guard, lowering his hand again and leaning back in his chair, balancing on two of its legs.

"Well! I might not dislike--”  the chair falls down on all four legs again with a soft thud. “-- anyway, stop dodging it, are _you_?"

"I might not dislike it." He says with a wry smirk that makes Fumiki's breath hitch slightly and he indignantly replies with a _"Touché, I guess."_ while fingering his left sleeve, gaze shifting away a little when Takaya continues. "It's not really people though, just you."

"Oh stop, you're making me blush...!"

"Your face has been red quite a while already."

"I say this a lot but you really have no tact whatsoever."

Takaya opens his mouth to retort but Fumiki leans over to put his hand over it with a hushing sound and Takaya's brows fall into their usual nonplussed position, before he removes the hand to drink some more coffee.

"You're still cute though."

He snickers when Takaya makes an odd noise into his mug, and moves his legs - presses his feet against Takaya's shins.

"Why--"

"My toes are cold!"

"Not that!"

"Well, you **are** cute. Or, you know. _I_ think you are, but I've heard it's a matter of taste."

"What."

"You're a very specific kind of cute."

"Is this a compliment? What does _"a specific kind of cute"_ even-- what am I supposed to do with this information...?!"

"Jeesh, calm down, isn't it a good thing that I find you cute? I mean, being your boyfriend and all!"

Takaya puts his mug down with a long sigh, lifting a hand to his temple.

"Aren't you the cute one?" He mutters, giving Fumiki a look of frowny exasperation which he recognizes pretty well by now, what with it being Takaya's usual look of acknowledgement of Fumiki's teasing and favored method of showing the world he's finding him unreasonable.

Fumiki disagrees; the delivery doesn't change the underlying sincerity of his feelings on the subject. 

Takaya being his own kind of cute is one of those things Fumiki wants to show off to everyone and keep all to himself at the same time.

"Me?" He catches the bait either way. While not being number one on the list of things he wants to be called, Takaya calling him cute makes him feel things he's not entirely displeased with. "Hmm... Is that really something you should tell your senior?"

"Only three years."

"Older than you? Considering we’re just in our twenties, aren't three years a lot, though."

"No." He says it so decisively, Fumiki feels a smile tug at the corners of his lips and he presses his feet against Takaya’s legs a little more firmly.

_See? Sweet as sugar, he is._

"Though I never would have guessed you were just 19."

"When we met?"

"Yep."

Humming, Takaya drums his fingers against the table.

"Eh, I guess just from looking at him it'd be hard to tell Suyama is in his thirties too."

"What! Really? I didn't know!"

Most of them celebrate numberless birthdays (Shouji in particular just gives a mystifying smile when asked his age), so Fumiki doesn't really know anyone's ages aside from what he can piece together from their current occupations. Takaya's, of course, he'd been made aware of when asking Takaya out to drink and Takaya replied that although the odds of actually getting in trouble are very slim, it'd be easier to do that stuff at home until he was of age.

Of course, Fumiki had learned later that - while true - the excuse had just been a good way for Takaya to avoid the headache of needing to babysit drunks (regardless of his own level of intoxication, it seems) together with Shouji or Azusa, and being stuck in needlessly loud places for several hours. This is naturally something he's been made to do quite a few times since his excuse stopped holding up. (In particular, he's been tasked with taking Fumiki back home more times than Fumiki can remember. For too many reasons. Which actually makes the real amount of times pretty small, when he thinks about it.)

Anyway, no one else's age had been similarly questioned, so Fumiki is pretty sure Takaya is the youngest of them. Well, except maybe Shintarou, and--

"-- wait. Isn't Mihashi like..."

"24. And five months."

"You can't remember our anniversary but you remember his birthday..."

"We went to the same high school." The way he says it makes it sound like it’s an obvious thing, though Fumiki disagrees yet again - he definitely doesn’t remember the birthday of his high school team’s pitcher. Okay, fine, batteries are probably different, but-- "And what do you mean, anniversary? It's not like we --"

"Woah! You'd better think again about what you're going to say now, Abe Takaya!"

"No need?" Takaya leans back in his chair while crossing his arms, completely unfazed by the finger Fumiki is pointing at him. “All I'm saying is, we didn't exactly start going out on a specific date or anything, did we?"

"I think we must have, like, a first date we called a date or something, but..."

"There was a date like that? _Ow_!” He grimaces when Fumiki kicks him but doesn’t say anything further, maybe because Fumiki has to scoot his chair out and drop his forehead against the table with a small whine of pain, feeling like three of his toes just forcefully scattered. He holds onto his foot with both hands. The heat helps a little, so he's able to properly take in the _"Wasn't it a gradual process?!"_ Takaya follows himself up with.

"When would you put like, a _'this is when it started!'_ date, then?" He asks into the table and when Takaya falls quiet for a while, Fumiki feels a cold shiver or two run down his spine.

They've never discussed this - probably because strictly speaking, they've just barely passed the vague year-or-so mark of dating despite knowing each other for three.

... maybe they should have?

"Started?" The following silence as Takaya thinks is too long. "Probably the day with the storm, in that case."

"Huh?” Fumiki lifts his head from the table to look over at Takaya. “What, _wait_ , like, way back, the first time we met?!"

He gets no response, but it's because Takaya suddenly is very busy eating his sandwich; his ears, his cheeks look a little flushed--

Fumiki places his hands on the table when he stands up, abruptly even in his own mind, suddenly uncaring about the combination of the cold floor and his bare feet, lost toes included.

"Wha'ff'e--??" Takaya attempts at human speech but with his mouth full of bread it's understandable there's quite a few lost sounds and syllables, and Fumiki walks around the table, wrapping his arms hard around the other's shoulders and pressing his cheek to his, in a vigorous manner. "Wha'h'ya wanth--"

"You're _so cute_ , I think I’m actually exploding right now…!"

"S'Thop..!"

Of course, it's not a secret that Fumiki had fallen pretty much instantly for Takaya, but he's never been too sure about how it'd happened the other way around. Okay, well, that's sort of a lie - he's never thought that Takaya would have started liking him very early, that much he'd believed himself to be sure of.

Trying to poke around for some verification isn’t _that_ bad of a thing, is it…? Takaya can be pretty sparse with the verbal kind, though it’s not like Fumiki has ever questioned his devotion. 

With the way Takaya is doting on him, he couldn’t possibly find any reason to.

This certainly isn't anything he'd ever complain about - he finds it precious whenever Takaya shows concern for his well being, because he can do things like display paying a lot of attention to what Fumiki rambles about and ask about something small mentioned in passing weeks earlier, or show an overwhelming desire to see Fumiki happy and in good health. No one has ever cared as much as Takaya does, and Fumiki is pretty sure no one can care like Takaya does, either - it makes him feel loved (even though of course he wouldn’t mind hearing it said from time to time, but still), and he wants to do his best to give Takaya similar feelings of warmth and contentment.

"Hey, Taka?" He asks, making room for himself to straddle Takaya's thighs and bring his feet up to the seat of the chair, holding onto Takaya and hooking his toes on the thin metal bars of the backrest.

"I'm _ea'ffin_..!" Takaya pauses, makes an effort to swallow and finally seems to get the bread down - he wipes his mouth clean off any lost crumbles and looks up at Fumiki indignantly. "You’re heavy, what is it."

But he's accommodating, shifting so that Fumiki can stay sitting in his lap - spreads his thighs a little and hooks his fingers into Fumiki's pants to reduce discomfort and keep him from sliding off.

A grin he can't stop and Fumiki has to touch, _feel_ , so his hands move almost without him even really consciously noting it up Takaya's arms to his shoulders, running up the curve of his neck to rest thumbs on his cheeks and tangle fingers into his messy, dark hair, and Takaya watches Fumiki quietly.

Of course, he could be just waiting for a reply  _(-- actually, that’s probably exactly what he’s doing --)_ ,but it's funnier to imagine him stunned, even just for a second, by having Fumiki so up and close.

Fumiki's smile grows wider at the thought - he feels the strain of it in his cheeks.

Shifting his feet to have his toes nestle closer, almost under, Takaya for warmth, Fumiki continues.

"I love you. So much, all the time, but sometimes it’s like I just love you so much it's almost like I'm bursting." He speaks in a low voice, registers every breath Takaya takes, every tiny move, meets his gaze right on while lowering his hands again to finger at Takaya’s collar. "It's such a good feeling. Actually it’s totally unfair how good it is. Y-You know what I mean...?"

He adds the last question mostly to make room for Takaya to voice his opinion; no matter what it might be. He knows he’s probing, even though Takaya is already so far ahead in how he makes Fumiki melt and fall in love with him again and again - Fumiki wants to keep up, and he suspects he isn’t but at least he’s not too far behind, probably…?

Hopefully.

Honestly, all he wants is to be giving as much as he’s getting, because Takaya deserves to feel everything he's making Fumiki feel.

"... mhm."

It's such a soft noise and small move that Fumiki would have missed it if he'd been blinking but he hadn't been, he'd caught it, and the accompanying nod has his heart beat so fast he doesn't know what to do with himself. He presses kisses to Takaya’s lips until Takaya stops spluttering half sentences from obvious (and extremely cute, he's still cute beyond belief, though Fumiki doesn’t tell Takaya that) embarrassment against Fumiki’s and resigns, tilting his head slightly, coercing Fumiki into staying still for a longer kiss that has Fumiki’s insides go from fireworks to complete mush.

He's never been as grateful to a natural occurrence than he is to the storm that had made him stumble in the front door that time, letting him meet Takaya. It feels like something not even fate had planned but somehow it'd happened anyway, and Fumiki welcomes it - this little detour.

As the kiss comes to an end, the following silence is like cotton.

Fumiki lowers his feet so that when he wraps his arms loosely around Takaya’s waist, nothing stops him from moving an almost unnoticeable amount of millimeters closer and nuzzle his face into Takaya’s shoulder. He’s giving off a mild scent Fumiki can’t pin-point, but it’s perfect - light, pleasant. And when he feels Takaya’s hands on his lower back, he lets the warmth of big palms rubbing heat into his back slowly lull him into a state as close as relaxed dozing off as he can get while still aware of what’s going on around him.

Well, at least the sounds of it.

It’s so comfortable, and he feels drowsy even with his feet being cold ( _falling asleep with cold feet is just plain impossible, isn't it?_ ), and he’s not sure how much time passes but it’s probably not very long because he soon picks up on the absence of intensity in certain background noises and lifts his head, watching Takaya again.

"Isn't it letting up a bit?"

Because the crescendo of the storm has calmed into pitter-patter against glass and Takaya looks over Fumiki's shoulder out through the windows.

"Seems like it. Wanna go?"

"To your place…" Though he really shouldn’t be inviting himself. "... right?"

Takaya nods.

"It's the closest."

"Mm, well, but maybe you wanted to be alone."

Given a long, blank stare, Fumiki can't stop himself from grinning, pressing a tiny kiss to Takaya's lips.

"Well, I gave you the chance now, so…" He lowers his voice, and Takaya leans a little closer. "... don't blame me if we don't get any sleep tonight."

"Maybe I wasn't planning to sleep in the first place."

He tries not to, but he still laughs quietly at that before replying.

"Seriously, though! There's a movie I really wanted to watch with you, I think you'd like it. It's really smart, I've heard." He continues, the tip of Takaya's nose a little cold against his lips when he presses a peck to it. "We could cuddle and stuff too."

"Nice."

"Well, I mean…" He backpedals a little, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “... I'll do whatever you feel up for so, if you have any ideas, too..."

"I might." He answers in such a straightforward manner that Fumiki can't stop a laugh when he hears it, and Takaya’s hands fall to Fumiki’s his hips and pushes lightly.  "But that's later, gotta get home first."

"Yeeeaa--." Fumiki answers like a student to a teacher and jolts when Takaya digs his fingers into his sides as punishment, knowing full well just how ticklish he is. "--aaAAH-- okay, no, stop, I'm going, let go, I'm go-- _owh_!"

As he gathers his things while nursing his elbow, which sadly had suffered superficial damage upon collision with the table, and shove his still wet clothes into two plastic bags, Takaya disappears into the back room and exits with an extra sweater on. Fumiki doesn’t even protest when handed Takaya’s jacket because Takaya wouldn’t let him _not_ use it anyways, but he does feel inclined to speak up when his eyes land on what’s in Takaya’s other hand.

"Oh, you brought an umbrella?"

"Nah. It’s Suyama’s."

"What, are you going to steal your boss’ umbrella!?"

"We’re obviously not stealing it." Takaya’s voice is as close to an eye-roll a voice can get. Fumiki steps into his cold, wet shoes and temporarily loses his ability to do anything try to calm the raging waves of discomfort running through his entire body, making the follow up sound a little distant to him, though he thankfully still hears it. "I’ll return it the next time I work."

"Hmm…" He borrows some time, clenching and unclenching his fists to try and focus on something other than the uncomfortable feeling pulsating from his feet - luckily, it starts subsiding fast enough that his continuation probably isn’t too delayed. “But is it really okay to take it? I mean--"

"Look, I've used it before. How does it help him standing around here, anyway? Might as well help us."

There’s a lot of sense in that. Which, of course, isn’t too surprising - when it comes to crass rationality, Takaya tends to be unmatched in his superiority.

"Alright, but if he needs it and it’s not there the blame is not on me!"

"It’s better if it is!" Takaya looks around the cafe to make sure everything is on order before they leave. "He’s got this disgustingly huge weak spot for you."

"Heh.” He tries to flick his hair with a little move of his head, but with it still being pretty wet from his earlier escapades out in the rain, not a lot happens, and Takaya looks at him in the quiet, blank manner which makes Fumiki’s cheeks light on fire every single time, so he quickly continues saying what he was going to as he grabs the door handle and pushes. “I guess I’m just that charming!"

"... don’t push, pull.”

"Would you _let me live_?!”

"It’s not my fault you’re hopeless!"

Fumiki makes a disgruntled noise and pulls the door open forcefully, pressing his heel to it to keep it open. The bell chimes, way too softly compared to how Fumiki had wrestled the door open. Takaya ruffles his hair when passing by, so Fumiki grabs his wrist to wrestle the hand down before following.

He still doesn't know the reason why he recognized the chime the first time, but it’s not important anymore - whatever it had been, it’s been replaced by all the times he’s been coming to visit after work and laughed together with Suyama and the odd friends he seems to attract, replaced with the sensation of falling in love with Takaya at first sight and the feeling of their hands, Fumiki’s arm slipped around Takaya’s and their fingers laced together, the feeling of them their huddling close together under the same umbrella and walking slowly while knowing the other is as happy as they are to be close, while knowing both of them want to be closer.

Whatever it had been, it can’t be better than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RAPIDLY SPEEDWALKS INTO THE ABYSS.


End file.
